


Bored

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, general silliness, passing notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: After a mission, Clint and Natasha are back at SHIELD HQ for their debrief. However, Clint has different ideas and decided to entertain himself during the boring meeting by passing notes to Nat. When Fury catches them, he isn’t best pleased.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Kudos: 49





	Bored

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BarnesnMrNoble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarnesnMrNoble/gifts).



> Just some light silliness between these two idiots. Please let me know what you think!

Debriefs were the worst part of any mission. 

During the planning stage, everyone was busy. There was an endless supply of coffee and biscuits to keep up energy and even though the well thought out plans went straight out the window the moment Clint stepped into the field it still felt good to know there were people in position to assist when necessary. 

The operations themselves were just a blur of paranoia, anxiety and, more often than not, a flurry of bullets. The negative feelings were never fun but beating up bad guys was a most effective release. Getting shot was never ideal and hurt like a bitch but Clint had, perhaps scarily, almost stopped noticing now. Anyway, the pain medication he got afterwards were great. 

After all that energy and the constant go of it all, coming back from the field to sit in a dimly lit conference room on uncomfortable chairs just to be condemned for not following procedure and taking too many risks was, frankly, awful. What Clint, and every other agent coming back from an op, really wanted was to find a hot shower, wash off the grime and blood of the mission and go to bed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep but if he was going to obsess over every tiny detail and failure in his life then he’d rather do it somewhere cosy.

It also never helped that these debriefs were so dull. If there was one thing in the world that Clint couldn’t deal with (aside from having no coffee; thankfully today his mug was topped right up with black, bitter goodness) it was boredom. So, really, it wasn’t his fault when he got distracted during the meeting. If Fury had made it more interesting, say maybe brought in a dog or did a song and dance (although maybe not the latter; he’d heard tales of the legendary time Fury did karaoke with Carol Danvers and never wanted to experience it first hand), then he would never have needed to entertain himself. 

Staring blankly at the agent recalling the events of the mission in a depressing monotone, Clint carefully tore the corner off a report. He scribbled a few words on the tiny piece of paper then flicked it across the room at Natasha. She hated these meetings too but put on a far better face than Clint could ever manage. 

The tiny ball of paper landed perfectly on the corner of her desk but she made no sign of having seen it. Desperate for entertainment, Clint didn’t consider the risk of his actions when he flung another ball of paper at the back of her skull. 

It certainly captured her attention. She leapt from her seat and, practically growling, drew the gun from her waistband. Ready to attack the invisible assailant, Natasha held an offensive stance as she scanned the room for any sign that they were in danger. 

“Romanoff?” Fury asked, confused and, in a surprising show of emotion, concerned. He had always liked her better than Clint, better than practically every agent in SHIELD, which he totally understood. She was the perfect agent. Responsible, reliable. Everything he was not. “Are you okay?”

Natasha relaxed having discerned that there was no threat but Clint knew her well enough to see the tension in her muscles, the remaining paranoia and fear that there was someone - something - out there. The people in this room were some of her closest family and she’d die before letting anything happen to them. 

She returned the gun to her waistband but her fingers remained close, ready to pull it back out in an instant. With a sharp nod at Fury, Natasha sat back down and said stiffly, “Yes. Apologies, Director. Carry on, Agent Jones.”

A few minutes passed before Fury finally took his eye off of Natasha and returned his attention to Agent Jones’ dull presentation. That was when Natasha finally shot Clint a sharp glance in the window’s reflection. He met it guiltily and her shoulders slumped, her disapproval practically audible. Hands behind her chair, she signed, _You’re an idiot._

_Sorry,_ he replied. He re-angled his chair slightly so that she could read his signing out the corner of her eye while ensuring that he was also in Fury’s blind spot. 

_What’s wrong? You don’t need to ask to pee anymore. You are an adult._

Clint raised an eyebrow, relieved when Natasha rolled her eyes. That meant she wasn’t angry with him. Sometimes Clint couldn’t understand why she put up with him but was eternally grateful that she did. He didn’t know what he’d do without her. _Really Tash?_

_I know. It’s hard for me to believe you’re an adult too._ She bit back a laugh at his reply (a one fingered sign that anyone would understand regardless of their proficiency in ASL) before steeling her expression once again. After all, it wouldn’t do to be seen smiling at the destruction of an entire village. _What’s wrong? Really?_

_I’m bored._

_So?_

_Entertain me?_

Natasha sighed with her entire body but there was no internal debate; she’d decided instantly that it was better to indulge his whims than leave him to find another way to entertain himself. _Fine. You start._

And so it began. Clint tore another strip of paper from the thick report, scribbled his message then folded it into a neat triangle. Checking no one was watching, he flicked it across the room, a flash of pride in his chest when it soared over her head and landed perfectly on the desk in front of Natasha. 

For the next ten minutes they flung pieces of paper across the room. Overconfidence soon got the better of them. Having yet to be caught, Clint and Natasha started bouncing the triangle off walls and light fixtures. Every agent in the room must have noticed but didn’t dare call out their silly behaviour to Fury. No doubt they too were enjoying the distraction, amazed by the bizarre and complex trajectories that the paper triangle took. 

Clint was setting up for the next insane shot when Fury called his name, causing him to mess up the shot. Instead of ricocheting off the projector and into Natasha’s lap, the paper triangle hit the plant in the corner and tumbled down between the leaves, straight into the dirt.

Fury’s eye widened in anger; Clint could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears. He snatched the piece of paper and opened it up, forehead crumpling in a seriously intense frown. “What is this?”

“Nothing…”

“I’ve had it up to here with you today, Barton. Tell me. What do an armadillo, orange, England, donkey, yuka, Amer - What the hell is a yuka?”

“It’s a starchy root from South America,” Natasha supplied, far more cheerily than the situation called for. 

Fury narrowed his eye at her, taking her ‘helpful’ addition as proof of guilt. To be fair, he could probably have worked that out regardless. Whenever Clint was in trouble, Natasha wasn’t far away. “What does this list mean?”

It killed him, Clint realised, to not know. He could put the list through every kind of code he knew and would still never realise. How he wished he could laud it over the Director and savour this feeling of being in a tighter circle than Fury but Clint knew better than that. “Nothing. It means nothing. It’s a game. You pick an animal then food then country and it has to start with the last letter of the word before.”

Met with a dumbfounded stare, Clint added, stupidly, “I was bored.”

“Get out,” Fury said. “Out. Now. Both of you.”

They didn’t wait to be told twice. The door clicked shut behind them and the pair burst out laughing, releasing the tension in the air. Clint felt like a kid who’d been suspended from school; too buzzed on having broken the rules to really appreciate the consequences he’d have to face tomorrow. “That was…”

“A bad idea?” Natasha supplied. 

“Fun.”

She didn’t dispute that. Like Clint, she knew that they’d have to pay for their stupidity but wasn’t overly bothered. This was hardly the worst they’d done and it wouldn’t be the last time something silly like this happened. Bumping shoulders with him, Natasha sighed, “He’s gonna have us on desk duty for weeks for this.”

“Worth it. Wanna grab a coffee?”

“Lead the way."


End file.
